Why read The Old Man and the Sea

Ah, Papa Hemingway. I just love your sparse sentences. Sometimes, I try out your writing style. Just the subject, followed by a short predicate. It reads like crap though. Like the sentences in this paragraph. Such a total waste of virtual real estate. So I bow down before you, Papa Hemingway. You make it seem so easy.

My first Ernest Hemingway read was A Farewell to Arms. That book made me an instant fan. I reread a few pages of it last month, as the book club's theme for May was all about Ernest Hemingway: his works and a bio. Then I realized that some of the lines spoken by the main characters are just so insufferable. I gag, but in a good way.

Here's a rather simpler way to show this to you, dear reader. Man asks, "Do you love me?" Woman responds, "No." Man asks again, "Do you love me?" Woman responds again, "No." Man asks for the third time, "Do you love me?" Woman finally admits, "Yes." To which the man says, "I like your hair." Argh!

The book club's swag during the discussion
I wonder if Papa H would approve of all these.
Somehow, I imagine him thinking, "Great. More stuff I don't need."

But I'm not here to talk about A Farewell to Arms. I love that book too much to talk badly about it. What I want to discuss is a much shorter work of Hemingway, which is The Old Man and the Sea. I'm not too sure how to categorize it—is it a novel, a short story (that's gone too long), or a novella? Let's just call this a novella. I love that I suddenly became all gung-ho and just decided that for you, dear reader.

Anyway, The Old Man and the Sea is the perfect book to read if you haven't read any of Hemingway's works. It's short, which will make you instantly decide if you like his writing style or not. It's also what I would like to call a gateway novel. It connects Hemingway's older works with his later fictions. It won the Pulitzer Prize, and I think it just might be the work that tipped the Nobel committee to award him the Nobel Prize for literature.

Wasn't Papa Hemingway a hottie? I get palpitations looking at this.
He served as an ambulance driver during  World War I.
Well, he can take me to the hospital anytime. 

I am partial to Hemingway's earlier works though. The Sun Also Rises and A Farewell to Arms are just brilliant. His later novels were hits and misses. The novel that preceded The Old Man and the Sea was very much lambasted by critics; it prompted Hemingway to write something that he said will be his best work. I don't think The Old Man and the Sea is his best though. But a lot of people from the book club liked it, which is good enough for me.

I don't think the novella is about man versus nature; it's more of a man-versus-himself kind of thing. The old man and the marlin that he has caught and held on for a few days are like mirror images. Only a great man can catch a formidable inhabitant of the sea. And having caught the marlin, the old man proved that he still had it in him. He still got his mojo. He rocks.

What I didn't get in the novella are all those religious references pertaining to the old man. He was supposed to represent Christ. He got wounds on his hands which some people compared to, ummmm, the stigmata. And when he finally went home after having spent several days in the sea holding on to that marlin, he collapsed in his bed in a position similar to Christ being nailed on the cross. Whatever. But the novella did make me crave for sushi. Mmmmm. . . Having fresh sushi—now that's a religious experience.

Oh, and this is the first official book club discussion that I attended this year. There's just been too much work. And I had to keep R. company, as the past few months were a very difficult period for him. Well, it definitely felt good to be back, and what better time than a discussion on one of my favorite authors.

R. (right) and I (left), after the book club discussion
Yes, we both wear reading glasses now.
No, we are not hipsters.

We also got the chance to read any biographical work on Ernest Hemingway. I didn't finish mine though. But thank goodness for Wikipedia, yes? From what I read of Papa Hemingway's life, he certainly did lead a very interesting one. War veteran at 19, married 4 strong women, lived in 4 continents, struggled with depression, took his own life. Compared to his, my life seems very much uneventful. But looking at what happened to Hemingway during his twilight years, I realized that uneventful is good.

I opted to read A. E. Hotchner's classic memoir of the time
he spent with Ernest Hemingway. It's a heartbreaking read.

K is for Kipling

I have a certain feeling of ambivalence after reading Rudyard Kipling's Kim, my 11th writer in my dead guy challenge. After turning over the last page, I thought that it was merely a coming-of-age novel. But then I checked out the novel's summary online, and boy oh boy was I surprised. How could I have missed all those details! To say that I felt stupid would be an understatement.

Kim, the main character, is a boy of Irish descent living in India during the British empire in the 19th century. He's a ruffian, a jester, a street rat in Lahore. Then he befriends Teshoon Lama, a former abbot whose dream is to free himself from the Wheel of Things. Teshoon Lama is on a quest to find the River of the Arrow, and he and Kim find themselves in many adventures in their quest.

As the novel progresses, we witness how Kim grows from the unruly orphaned boy that he is to a chela (servant) of the lama, a student in an English school in Lucknow, a government appointee, a surveyor (a spy of sorts), and a key player in the battle between the British empire and the Russians. And this last role is where I have a problem with. I felt that Kim was never really offered a choice in his role as a spy. Everything was laid out for him to become one.

What I did like were the amusing parts where Kim and lama travel to many exotic locations in India. Also, I found their encounters with several characters (e.g., a prostitute, a sick child, a sorceress) charming. This is where Kipling's novel shines. As for the grand plot involving espionage, everything was like a blur. I would have preferred more details, more texture, on these parts of the novel.

Kim is still an entertaining read. Although one major aspect of my ambivalence toward is whether the novel can be enjoyed by children or not. I do see Kim in many bookstores under the children's section, and there's a Puffin edition of it. But the novel's political themes may be too overwhelming for young readers. I guess if the readers are guided to focus on the characters' adventures, then I guess it could very well work as a children's book.

Read this book if:

1. You like your adventure stories set in exotic locations.
2. You've always been curious about the actions of the British empire.
3. You'll read anything by Nobel Prize-winning authors.

J is for James

Henry James is a novelist whom I feel I should be reading more of. I was in book love heaven with A Portrait of the Lady. And I was genuinely creeped out by his short story "The Turn of the Screw." But The Wings of the Dove was another matter. I found reading it, uhmm, difficult.

The novel's plot is classic Henry James. A couple, Kate Croy and Merton Densher, are ridiculously in love. However, Kate's aunt, Maud Lowder, is vehemently opposed to their romantic involvement, as Merton is just a lowly clerk without any money. Enter Milly Theale, an American millionaire who's terminally ill. Kate comes up with an idea of Merton accompanying Milly in Italy, hoping that Milly would fall made in love with Merton and leave some of her inheritance to Merton upon her death.

First, there are the characters. For some reason, I couldn't root for any of them. Kate comes off as being manipulative, Merton as a wuss, and Milly as a gullible expat. And am I bad person if I wish that Kate and Merton's romance be doomed? Even Aunt Maud feels a little oily for me.

Second, the narrative feels long and winding. Long paragraphs wherein characters just describe their mood made me want to fling this book at a wall. I almost did it though. Almost. But my A to Z challenge calls, and there's no way I'm going to switch The Wings of the Dove with two other Henry James novels that I have. I don't care about the American expat community in The Ambassadors, nor about the ending in The Golden Bowl, which is the only James novel where everything turns out well for the characters in the end. Blecch. Give me tragedy any time.

The ending of The Wings of the Dove almost had me screaming. Almost. Merton, you should've opened that envelope. You should've allowed yourself just a peek at what Milly left you. You owe it to yourself to have done so. Never mind about Kate. She had it coming. When she asked you to be close to Milly, she basically gave you away. Your falling in love with Milly was but natural.

I love the movie adaptation of this novel though. Helena Bonham Carter and Linus Roache were perfect for their roles. Alison Elliott's acting as Milly Theale was so beautifully subtle. The sense of place of the movie was spot on. However, in the novel, the setting can get a bit confusing, especially with James's penchant for long paragraphs and his focus on the characters' train of thought.

The Wings of the Dove is considered by many to be one of James's brilliant novels. But James was never really happy with it. He felt that his characters aren't that fully realized and that the novel's final structure was defective, whatever that means. I agree with James. I would have loved to read more about Kate and Merton and their relationship with Milly. I would have loved to read more about Milly's eventual falling for Merton. In the novel, Milly just . . . dies.

I'm guessing that The Wings of the Dove is one of those novels that gets better after a reread. It is a classic after all. And perhaps I just had way too many expectations about it. In any case, a reread is definitely in order.

Read this book if:

1. You love doomed romances.
2. You have a devious and manipulative romantic partner.
3. You have a thing for Henry James and his long paragraphs.

I is for Irving

Totally unexpected, this one. I know all about the big screen adaptation by Tim Burton, but that movie takes a liberal shot at Washington Irving's novella, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Liberal, like 50%. When I think about it, all the movie had in common with Irving's material is the Headless Horseman and Ichabod Crane. And Burton just borrows the name of the latter. Because when you break it down, Johnny Depp's character doesn't share any similarities with the Ichabod Crane that Irving writes about.

All right, so we have Ichabod Crane, who is not a member of the judiciary but is merely a humble schoolteacher. So humble, so insecure, and so clumsy. And he's not really the hero of the story as it will turn out. By the end of the story, Ichabod Crane is just one more casualty. Was he a victim of the Headless Horseman? Or was he just an unfortunate character who's fallen prey to a prank by Brom Bones. Brom and Ichabod are both wooing the town beauty, Katrina Van Tassel. It's really not made clear though if Katrina has directly denied Ichabod her hand. All we know is that at the end of the party, Ichabod leaves with very low spirits.

What caught me off guard was how humorous the story can be. Somehow, we feel that Irving is making light of the people of Sleepy Hollow. He loves them, make no mistake. But it's as if he's inviting the reader to see that these are people who tell creepy stories to amuse themselves. I'm amused as well. I'm amused at the brilliant way that Irving shows us how a town's beliefs, its superstitions, can influence the lives of the locals. And that despite these superstitions, they make do.

It's no wonder that Irving's stories have stood the test of time. These are the kind of stories that you tell each other at the campfire. These are the stories that you share to your friends to creep them out. While the Headless Horseman doesn't really appear till the end of the story, there's a sense of pervading gloom right from page 1 of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. By the end of the story, if you're not creeped out by what happens to Ichabod Crane, then at least it will give you pause to think whether the Headless Horseman is real or not.

Read this book if:

1. You love short creepy stories.
2. You've seen the movie, and now it's time to read the book.
3. Headless Horseman! Headless Horseman! Is there really any other reason for reading this?

H is for Hardy

First, this is going to be short. I'll be writing a full post on my thoughts about Thomas Hardy's The Return of the Native over at The Project Gutenberg Project blog. I've been accepted as one of its contributors, and my first post goes live this Tuesday. The blog's all about discovering forgotten classics in the public domain.

While Hardy may not be considered "forgotten," I feel that he's not as popular these days as some classic authors. Jane Austen, for instance, has had numerous adaptations of her novels. Shakespeare has been reworked to death. Henry James and E. M. Forster enjoyed a revival due to the wonderful Merchant-Ivory films. But Hardy? Quite few and far between, if I may so.

Second, The Return of the Native caught me by surprise. Oh, Hardy, why did it take me this long to read you? The novel opens very slowly. But the drama that enfolds lures you in. Here are tragic characters all set out to enact the story that unfolds beautifully. Here's a novel that lets you look into the lives of provincial characters—their superstitions, their upbringing, their beliefs and mores.

Perhaps it's the depressing themes that make people shy away from Hardy. Yes, The Return of the Native can indeed be a downer. You wallow in it. You get lost in all the frustrations, the what-could-have-beens, the missed connections, and the futile romances of the people of Egdon Heath. But you know what? I'd gladly return to the fictional Wessex of Hardy, if only to read his brilliant stories. The themes may be depressing, but the writing is glorious.

Started reading this while waiting to board a plane

Read this book if:

1. Depressing novels are your thing.
2. You've always wondered about Hardy's fictional Wessex.
3. You know what it's like to return to your hometown after years of being away.

Update:

My post at the Project Gutenberg Project blog is now up. Read it here.

G is for Gotthelf

I love a good horror story. And after reading mostly the Victorians in my dead guy reading challenge, I believe the time is now ripe to go beyond the British realm. So I picked up Jeremias Gotthelf's The Black Spider. Gotthelf is a curiosity. He was a Swiss pastor who was a contemporary of Edgar Allan Poe. According to his biography, one difference between Gotthelf and Poe is that Gotthelf believed in the reality of the demon he created in his short stories. This thought gives me goosebumps, as the monster he created in The Black Spider is quite the character.

Upon opening the novel, which was published in 1842, one might think that it isn't a horror novel at all. The opening lines paint a picture of quaintness and the mundane. Gotthelf begins with a very vivid, albeit poetic, description of the town of Sumiswald, where the events of the novel take place.

Above the mountains rose the sun, shining in limpid majesty down into a welcoming but narrow valley, where it woke to joyous life creatures that had been created to take pleasure in the sunshine of their days. From the forest's gilded edge the blackbird trilled its aubade while the amorous quail intoned monotonous minnelieder from amid the flowers sparkling in the dew-bespangled grass, and high above the dark firs, lusty crows danced nuptial roundelays or else cawed tender lullabies above the thorny little beds of their unfledged chicks.

But all will not be well at Sumiswald, for in The Black Spider, a dark period in the history of that little fictional town will be told. It begins with a brutal knight, one Hans von Stoffeln, who makes a most inhumane demand on the farmers of his estate. It's a demand so impossible for the residents of Susmiswald that one of the women, Christine, is forced to make a pact with the devil. The devil in The Black Spider is one I haven't encountered before. No horns, fangs, and serpertine eyes and tails here. What Gotthelf conjured is a tall, red-beared huntsman dressed all in green and with a red feather in his cap. All he asks in return is an unbaptized child.

So the knight is made happy and all seems well in the little town. Until the first child is born. Christine takes it upon herself to get the child and bring it to the devil. But she is thwarted, as the child is baptized as soon as it is born. Then the second child is born, and the same thing happens. All this time, a black mark has been growing on Christine's face. The mark grows and grows till little spiders come out of it and kill all the cattle in Sumiswald. When the third child is born, Christine hurriedly goes to the mother's house and steals the child. But alas, when she was about to hand the baby over to the green huntsman, a priest sprinkles holy water on these two. The devil flees, and Christine shrinks and transforms into a small spider, which the priest casts aside in rescuing the poor baby.

The story does not end here. It's too clean, yes? The black spider wreaks havoc in the town, appearing in one house, killing people, and then disappearing instantly, only to appear again in another place. It's at this point that I begin to think how The Black Spider is very similar in theme to the story of the pied piper of Hamelin. But instead of people realizing their fault and correcting it by doing what has been previously agreed on, the people of Sumiswald resort to their faith. (Gotthelf, after all, was a pastor.) Of course they can't give a child to the devil, whether it's baptized or not. It was up to one of the residents of Sumiswald to outwit the black spider and trap it in a wooden post.

Gotthelf's novel is a quick read. It's just a little over 100 pages. One assumes that this tale, written in the mid 1800s, would have a plot that took its time to unfold. No. The Black Spider's narrative pace is a hectic one. And an atmosphere of dread and creepiness pervades throughout the pages.

Nightmarish—that's how I would describe Gotthelf's novel. I couldn't help but look over my shoulder every now and then. Just to check whether an 8-legged thing is slowly finding its way into one of my pockets. Don't get me wrong, I love spiders. They kill pests, and they'd mostly leave you alone if you leave them alone too. But the spider in this novel is something you'd wish you'd never meet. You might as well practically kill yourself if you do. There's just no escaping it. It's evil incarnate.

Again, I'm grateful that NYRB has published this forgotten classic. It's wonderful reading about the traditions and customs of small towns in ages gone by. There's an opening scene about a baptism that's about to happen. I never knew that there was so much eating involved before and after the ceremony. I guess in olden times, one stuffs himself silly when a baby enters the Christian world. Fascinating trivia.

Read this book if:

1. You have a thing for classic horror stories.
2. You love spiders.
3. You're looking for a quick and scary read.

F is for Fowles

Twenty years ago, as soon as I finished reading The Magus by John Fowles, I can still remember my feeling of elation. It was my first Fowles, and I thought that I got mind-fucked by the novel. With its seamless transition between reality and fantasy, The Magus was an exercise in patience and stamina. Finishing it was a rewarding experience indeed. I never planned to read another Fowles novel, but I needed a letter F for my dead guy challenge. So, Fowles's debut novel it is. (Flaubert, I will tackle you another time. Promise.)

Ah, The Collector. What a totally satisfying thriller you are. You're still quite a suspenseful read, even though you were first published in 1963. And I now understand why you were the debut that brought Fowles to everyone's attention. You do remind me of those movies that feature deranged serial killers and psychopaths ("The Silence of the Lambs" and "Psycho"). But what sets you apart from these thrill-a-minute films is how erudite you seem to be. Reading you wouldn't just satisfy one's craving for a sickening story; you also allow us to go deep into both the minds of the characters—the captor and the captive.

The novel, all 300 pages of it, features just two characters. Frederick Clegg, the lonely clerk who collects butterflies in his free time, and Miranda Grey, the art student whom Frederick develops an obsession on. And Fowles just gives us 4 chapters. With the first chapter, it's all about Frederick's point of view. It recounts his unhealthy attraction to Miranda, his winning a substantial amount of money in a lottery, and his meticulous planning of Miranda's kidnapping. Frederick is the collector referred to in the novel for obvious reasons. We just know that, probably, not everything is right in his calculated mind. With his money, he buys a cottage with a basement where he keeps Miranda.

Cut to the next chapter and we get to know Miranda a bit more. The Collector isn't just about the battle of wits between Frederick and Miranda. It's more of an exploration of the minds of its characters. With Frederick, it's all about obsession and how he's determined to make Miranda a part of his collection. In Miranda's chapter, we read about Miranda's life before her abduction, her willingness to be romantically involved with an artist 21 years her senior, her plans of escape from Frederick, and her eventual desperation at the futility of all her attempts. Her chapter made us feel for Miranda, and we really hope that she would have escaped by the novel's end.

One just can't imagine what prison is like from outside. You think, well, there'd be lots of time to think and read, it wouldn't be that bad. But it is too bad. It's the slowness of time. I'll swear all the clocks in the world have gone centuries slower since I came here. 

I shouldn't complain. This is a luxury prison. 

And there's his diabolical cunning about the newspapers and radio and so on. I never read the papers very much, or listened to the news. But to be totally cut off. It's so strange. I feel I've lost all my bearings. 

I spend hours lying on the bed thinking about how to escape. 

Endless. [page 250]

The Collector messes up your brain too, in a beautiful way. The sexual tension between the two characters is just nail biting, even though Frederick and Miranda never really do it. Well, almost. There was this one time when Miranda attempts to seduce Frederick, but it doesn't go as planned. Frederick couldn't perform. Somehow, a psychiatrist has told Frederick that he'll never be able to do it with a woman. And it is at this point that you get to thinking—just what the hell is wrong with you, Frederick? Why couldn't you get it up? And why do you do a complete 180-degree turn when the object of your obsession offers herself up to you? All of a sudden, you think of Miranda as a charlatan.

I should read more John Fowles. Such a deft writer, that one. Comfortable in varied writing styles. Frederick's narrative is an exercise in control and in looming terror. Miranda's, on the other hand, spirals downward from being whimsical, introspective, and then surrendering. You literally feel her descent into madness and despair. It's a truly chilling account.

Read this book if:

1. You love psychological suspense.
2. You have an unhealthy obsession of things and, possibly, of certain persons.
3. You know that that seemingly harmless dude sitting next to you in the bus keeps a woman prisoner in his basement.

E is for Eliot

And I've finally read my first Eliot! Although I initially planned to read Middlemarch, I had to shift to Silas Marner while I was midway into the former. I wasn't getting the feels for Middlemarch. And besides, Silas Marner is reportedly the author's favorite among her novels. I still plan to go back to that doorstop that is Middlemarch but not until the latter part of the year though.

So the eponymous Silas Marner is probably the most sympathetic, the mostly easily likeable, character I've come across. The short novel (just a little over 200 pages) is really his story of redemption. It's a tale involving his fate because of the actions of the people who have wronged him and of how the presence of a child can force our humble character to make a 180-degree turn and look at life in a more positive light.

Because Silas Marner, a weaver, is really like Scrooge in the earlier parts of the novel. Having been falsely accused of stealing, he leaves the town of his birth and decides to live in the town of Raveloe. In that town, he amasses a somewhat substantial fortune from his daily toil of weaving. He spends every night holed up in his cottage and running his fingers through all that gold and money. (Well, honestly, I would do that too. Who wouldn't, yes?) Silas now chooses isolation, as he's been betrayed by people in his former hometown.

Enter a two-year-old girl, who finds her way to the cottage of Silas Marner after her mother dies from exposure. Silas decides to raise the girl as his own, thinking that the baby, who he named Eppie, is a blessing from above. At this point, Silas somehow has the idea that this baby rightfully belongs to him—that the baby is owed him, in fact. But there's more to Eppie though. It turns out that her dead mother was the wife of Godfrey Cass, the eldest of the two sons of a very wealthy person in Raveloe. At that time, Godfrey had his eyes on marrying Nancy Lammeter.

When Eppie was discovered by Silas who brings him to the village pub, Godfrey immediately knew that she was his daughter. Fearful that his marriage prospects to Nancy would be ruined, he decides to  keep his mouth shut. Godfrey's younger brother, Dunstan, has been missing as well. And we know early on that it was Dunstan who entered the house of Silas and took the money away.

The disappearance of the money and the arrival of Eppie have profound effects on the life of Silas. Before, it's as if the money served as all, screening off Silas from the happenings in the town. The townsfolk left him alone and considered him to be an eccentric. When they find out about the robbery, they reached out to Silas. They gave him food. They offered their advice. They acted neighborly and Christian. When Eppie came to his Silas's life, people were no longer afraid of him. With Eppie, Silas came into his own as a member of the community. No longer was Silas lonesome.

In old  days there were angels who came and took men by the hand and led them away from the city of destruction. We see no white-winged angels now. But yet men are led away from threatening destruction: a hand is put into theirs, which leads them forth towards a calm and brighter land, so that they look no more backward; and the hand may be a little child's. [page 150]

Cut to 16 years later, and of course there must be a wedding. Our Eppie has blossomed into a fine young woman, and she has received a proposal from Aaron, her childhood friend and the son of Mrs Dolly Winthrop. Aside from Silas, it is Mrs Winthrop whom I particularly like. Early on, she was always there to lend comfort to Silas, and it was she who was instrumental in bringing Silas to the Christian fold.

Towards the end of the novel, it is revealed to Eppie that her real father is Godfrey. This revelation serves its purpose of easing the guilty conscience of Godfrey, who have hidden this secret from his estranged daughter and his goodly wife. But Eppie will have none of it. She loves Silas, her working-class father. She loves living among the working class. She will not be made into a lady. And at this point in the novel, I admire Eppie for her chutzpah.

I really enjoyed Silas Marner. Eliot shows us a forgotten time in provincial England, where people take no hesitation in helping people in need. It's a time when you know all the people in the pub at the end of the work day. It's a time when it was relatively easy to start with a clean slate. Silas Marner is that kind of novel that you close with a feeling of hope. And these days, we all could be a little more hopeful.

Read this book if:

1. You like novels set in provincial England.
2. You know that people inherently are good.
3. You believe in angels.

The next batch of dead guys

My reading adventure with dead guys is turning out to be more fun that what I had expected. Yes, there are bumps along the way, but I am enjoying these books. I am almost through with George Eliot's Middlemarch yet, but I somehow accidentally started Gustave Flaubert's Madame Bovary. So, in a way, the first batch of dead guys, letters A to F, will be over and done with in a few more days.

For the next batch, letters G to L, I made a rough selection of the books that I have on my shelves. A confession though: The Washington Irving short story collection is a new purchase; I found out that I have no authors whose surnames start with I in my shelf. And I'm terribly excited for this batch, as I've never read a Golding, Hardy, and an Irving.

Choosing an author for letter G was a happy problem. Way, way, way too many options. Should I go with Graham Greene's The Heart of the Matter or Brighton Rock? How about Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South or Wives and Daughters? And then there's this short ghost story by an unknown European writer which I'm terribly curious about.

Also, what Hardy should I begin with? I have Far from the Madding Crowd and Jude the Obscure. What made me choose the latter? The yellow Penguin cover. When I posted the same photo on Facebook, some of my friends mentioned that Hardy can be terribly depressing. I don't mind that at all. We can't always pick up happy books, yes? Besides, it's yellow, so it's a happy book in that aspect.

But even though I've somehow chosen the books that I'm going to read next, I'm still not closing any doors and allowing room for serendipitous book finds. Just as long as the authors are dead. Who knows whether my letter H would turn out to be Nathaniel Hawthorne? The Scarlet Letter seems to be a quick read. Or maybe I'll decide on drama for letter I and go with Henrik Ibsen.

For next year, I'm already thinking of another challenge. A Dickens reading of all his novels perhaps?

D is for Dahl

First, an apology, dear reader. I know that I was supposed to read Dickens as my 4th dead guy (letter D). But halfway through Great Expectations, I realized that I've read it already! So I immediately dropped it and picked up a Roald Dahl, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is the only Dahl book in my shelves. Such a quick read, this book is.

I was surprised at how Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is so easy to like. Yes, there are stereotypical characters. And yes, these characters get what they deserve. At the onset (at least if you haven't seen the movie), one knows who will have an unfortunate hand dealt upon them, and who will be favored by the quick turn of events. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is, after all, a children's book.

The novel's plot zooms through its 160 pages, which works well for young readers. There isn't a chapter wherein the characters just talk about things. Dahl makes sure that there's plenty going on on each page, and boy, there is a lot going on. One forgives Dahl for this breakneck pace, because the dialogue is witty, the characters charming, and the places bizarrely wonderful.

Perhaps an older reader like me would find fault in the storyline's predictability. Charlie gets his Golden Ticket eventually, and the other 4 children suffer fates commensurate to their flaws. Veruca Salt, a spoiled girl, is found to be a rotten nut. The chubby Augustus Gloop is made to traverse a thin pipe that can barely accommodate his girth. The novel's end though, when Willy Wonka decides to make Charlie Bucket his heir, is something we've seen coming from miles away.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is indeed charming albeit simplistic. It's the kind of book you love as a kid. It's one that you keep coming back to in your adult years for the sheer pleasure of reading something where the characters are clear cut. There are no gray areas in this book. And that's a good thing these days, when you never know if that kindly old lady next door will sneak into your house at night and slash your throat.

Read this book if:

1. You like sugary sweet things.
2. You know that chocolate is a food group in itself.
3. You've always wanted to live in a chocolate factory.

C is for Carroll

Ah, such gibberish this book is. Half of the time, I couldn't figure out what the hell was happening. My edition actually contains two works by Lewis Carroll—Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Though the Looking Glass. I wonder why Penguin chose to just go with the first novel as the book's title. Ah, such is the mystery of life!

To say that both works are novels is like saying that a fruit cup is a dessert (oh, the humanity!) or that raisins are candy (no, just no). A friend on Facebook mentioned that one should read Carroll expecting to find a puzzle and not a story. Yes, there isn't a clear plot to the novels. What I felt as I was reading Carroll was that he was making things up along the way. Hmmmm. . . I wonder if there's any truth to my theory. I've read somewhere that Carroll made up these stories for the daughter of the dean of his college. That daughter's name? Alice.

But what glorious imagination Carroll has! I must give him that. I guess when you rid yourself of the stress of thinking up a plot, it frees up brain space so you can think of very inventive characters, yes? I love the Queen of Hearts, the Mad Hatter, Tweedledum and Tweedledee, the grinning Cheshire cat, the Duchess, the Mock Turtle, the Caterpillar and the March Hare! I'd love them more if I knew what they were all about though. But, as always, I take what I can get.

I play the Mad Hatter.
Actually, the hats prevented me from scratching my head.

Another thing I was surprised about this book was how Carroll is a genius when it comes to word play. His prose is richer for it, and it makes the dialogue between the characters funny. The word play distorts your sense of logic but in a good way. It's as if Carroll is poking fun at the reader if he'll get the humor.

'I quite agree with you,' said the Duchess; 'and the moral of that is – "Be what you would seem to be" – or, if you'd like it put more simply – "Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise." '
–page 79, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland  

'You couldn't have it if you did want it,' the Queen said. 'The rule is jam to-morrow and jam yesterday – but never jam to-day.'
'It must come sometimes to "jam to-day",' Alice objected.
'No, it ca'n't,' said the Queen. 'It's jam every other day: to-day isn't any other day, you know.'
–page 172, Through the Looking Glass

I play the Mad Hatter, again.
Because green is my color of the moment.

Also, wouldn't you know it, some of the poems Carroll included in this book is gibberish as well. But, what the hell, I just went along with it. And I found out that it could be terribly fun if you read some of these poems aloud. Just make sure you're alone though. Otherwise, people would just think you're on meth. Just a touch of meth, just a touch.

Jabberwocky 

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogroves,
And the mome raths outgrabe. 

'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!'
–page 131, Through the Looking Glass

And yet again, I play the Mad Hatter.
I'd do anything to ham it up with a fez.

What on earth is a "brillig"? How can one do an "outgrabe"? And what makes a Bandersnatch "frumious"? Or, more to the point, what the devil is a "Bandersnatch"? Madness, I'm telling you. (Although, in the latter part of the story, there is some attempt to explain this bit of a poem.)

All right, I didn't find Carroll as enjoyable as I hoped he would be. As children's stories, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass are puzzling to say the least. The characters though, they're another matter. They're the stuff of wonderful childhood dreams.

Read this book if:

1. You like a little bit of gibberish every now and then.
2. You love all the Alice movies.
3. You fell through a hole at one point in your life.

B is for Brontë

My first dead guy was Austen, and I didn't like her so much. Now my 2nd dead guy—Charlotte Brontë—is something so completely unexpected. Jane Eyre is a marvelous read. And with its Gothic theme, I wonder why it took me this long to read it.

Yes, Jane Eyre is heavy on the melodrama, but I loved it. I loved the eponymous character, she of the head strong female, the kind of person every young girl should look up to. She knows what she wants, and even though she doesn't usually get it, she's prepared to say no to things just because it would be convenient for her. Marriage to a handsome pastor but is not made of love? No, thank you. Jane Eyre will have her Mr Rochester.

The premise is simple enough. Orphaned girl is taken in by an uncle who eventually dies too. Uncle's wife is a huge b***c, who makes life terrible for the 10-year-old Jane. Jane is transplated to a boarding school for orphans, where she stays for 10 years. For the last 2 years, she serves as teacher to the same school. But Jane has itchy feet, and she decides to apply as a governess to the ward of a certain Mr Rochester.

Lowering my expectations on the 1st page

Jane falls madly in love with Mr Rochester. What struck me about this attraction is that it's not at all based on beauty and gallantry. Rochester isn't handsome, he's a bit of a stuck up and very anal, and he seems to have this sense of entitlement which he never fails to remind his household staff. Yes, Jane's attraction isn't explained at all, and that's how I know that this is one good romance. Love doesn't need any justification. You just love someone. Period.

But Rochester has a secret: he's still married to a crazy woman whom he keeps in the 3rd floor of his house. This secret isn't revealed till the day of Jane's wedding to Mr Rochester. The two don't become husband and wife at this point though, for upon discovering this not-so-teeny-tiny a secret, Jane flees. In the last quarter of the novel, we read how Jane discovers her cousins, almost marries a parson named Mr St John Rivers, and comes into her inheritance upon the death of her uncle.

I totally get Jane.

Mr Rochester and Jane do end up as a couple though. And here is where the novel really shines. When Jane goes back to Thornfield, he finds Mr Rochester blind and in a nasty state. But it doesn't matter—she still loves him and she's prepared to make all the sacrifices for the sake of this love. Do you find this sappy, dear reader? I do. But it's the good kind of sappy, the kind of sappy that doesn't make you fling the book at the couple making out in the train.

I'd like to think of Jane Eyre as not just merely a love story. Oh, the love story is a huge part of it all right, but I think it's more of the journey of a character, from someone who seems to have nothing at all to a woman who knows that life is about the choices we make and the consequences of those choices.

Jane always found a way to redeem herself at various stages of her life. In Lowood, the boarding school, she refuses to acknowledge the lies being told about her. In her refusal to marry Mr St John Rivers, she knew that marrying someone just because it would be easy for them to go to India on a missionary tour is a mistake. When she found out Mr Rochester's secret, Jane believes that staying in Thornfield would always present a moral dilemma, as she'd always be in the presence of a man she loves and can never marry.

Yes, this book is a treasure.

To say that I had a blast reading Jane Eyre would be an understatement. I devoured the book. I kissed it when I finished it. I recommended it to friends. It's not a short read, being more than 400 pages, but it's a rewarding one. It's very moral without being preachy, romantic without being too sugary, dark and luminous in different parts. It really is, without a doubt, a classic.

Read this book if:

1. You love strong female characters.
2. You know that one should always marry someone you love and nobody else.
3. You've always been curious about the works of the Brontë sisters.

My year of reading dead guys

I've been constantly asked about it by my friends, family, and people from the book club. Okay, here it is. For this year, I plan to read only dead guys, alphabetically from A to Z. And, based on the photo on the left, I've even made a shortlist of the first 8 authors whose books I'll be reading.

So I've put it out in the open, and I think that's the first step. If you put something into writing (even though it's in digital ink), it's there, it's a commitment and a promise to myself. If I fail, I've no one to blame but my lazy ass self.

But why am I doing this? Well, I guess it's finally time for me to read some of the literary classics that I've been avoiding. I just read my first Austen, and, even though I didn't like it that much, I can now say that I've read her. In fact, I think my reading Emma might have increased my detestation for this beloved author.

Also, in a way, reading the classics would minimize my compulsive book-buying habits. I've checked my shelves, and I think I have most of the letters covered. So, bring it on, 2014! I'm so ready for you.

A is for Austen

Finally, I have read my first Jane Austen, and let me just say that I'm glad this is finally over. Austen, over and done with. If I could sum up in just one word all my thoughts on this novel, it would be, well, meh. What's the deal with Austen? And why does her characters have to be so, well, meh.

My feelings as I read through this novel during the first few days of 2014 can be described in 3 stages. First is anger and frustration. Yes, I was angry at and frustrated with Emma, she of the flawed character who simply has to mess with everybody else's lives. Apparently, Emma has taken it upon herself to do all the matchmaking among people who matter in Highbury. It doesn't matter that her success rate is just 1 so far. In this day and age, she's be labeled as a manipulative and meddling b****.

So yes, I was angry, and, yes, I was frustrated. And my frustration is directed toward all the people who play along with her, specifically Harriet who foregoes the love of a certain Robert Martin in favor of someone that Emma likes. Why? Because, as per Emma, Martin is just too poor a match for her dear Harriet, who is clearly smitten with Martin and is thrilled at his marriage proposal. Kill me now.

Angry enough to bite the book

Second, I was confused. Why won't people just say what they really think? Why all the gossip and speculation, which clearly are exercises in futility? Why would Frank Churchill keep his engagement to Jane Fairfax a secret? I think of all the chapters that could have been removed should people just follow their romantic inclinations and not lead clueless people to false hopes. Cruel, cruel, cruel.

I was confused with Emma as well. Why does she have to appoint herself as the matchmaker of Highbury? It just doesn't add up! If she were being paid to do so, now that would one hell of a motivation. But clearly she just wants to poke her nose in people's asses.

I'm confused with the "weighty" issues they discuss in Emma. It really is important to talk about, and at length at that, how beautiful one's handwriting is and how one person's handwriting appears so much stronger than the other. Oh, and of course it would be a dilemma to find out that there would be 9 guests instead of just 8, which they originally planned. That truly is a problem that needs to be resolved in at least 2 pages. I scratch my head in wonder.

A bit pacified but confused

But I soldier on and persevere. And by the end of this novel of about 400 pages, I just felt relief. All ends well. As I have seen it from page 1, all will end in a wedding, well, 3 weddings in fact. Emma realizes that she does love Mr. Knightley, Harriet ends up with Robert Martin, and the engagement of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax is brought to everyone's attention. If I were living in Highbury, I would've kidnapped all the characters, locked them up together in a room, and offer no food until they just be honest with one another.

Still, I am happy that I finished Emma, even though it didn't offer any motivation to read more Austen novels. Pride and Prejudice? Thanks, but I'll just watch the movie again. And that Darcy—that's someone I also couldn't understand.

A smile of relief

Read this book if:

1. You love flawed heroines.
2. You'll read anything that has female characters wearing corsets.
3. You love a comedy of errors, of sorts.